


Then I will take the chain from off the door

by myhappyface



Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-18
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhappyface/pseuds/myhappyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the morning I can smell you on my pillow / I need to know we won't get wrung out in the wash.</p>
<p>Collection of some previously posted drabbles and ficlets, arranged in a somewhat linear fashion. Most of these were originally posted to LiveJournal, then to the <a href="http://inevitablestardom.com/thunderheart/">Thunderheart archive</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Passing Time

**Author's Note:**

> To Carly, with love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walter Crow Horse is not pining!

Walter isn't waiting for Ray to come back; he doesn't have a lot of time to go mooning around after some Federal Indian, even one that turned out not so bad. The land-snatching, uranium-drilling case is pretty far outside their usual territory of drunk-and-disorderlies, kids with too much time and too much booze on their hands. The feds flew Jimmy off the res and into lock-up as soon as they got their hands on him, but they left the loose ends and the paperwork behind for Crow Horse and his two deputies. Dealing with the GOONs alone is enough to keep him busy for years.

Then there's finding another teacher, someone willing to replace a woman they'd all loved, and making sure the children feel safe again, which means Walter spends a couple of hours every week sitting in the back of the classrooms and telling stories on Iktomi, enough to make the kids laugh and to annoy the teachers into not being scared any more.

Walter isn't waiting for Ray to come back, but every time he says that to Grandpa, the old man looks at him like he oughta be ashamed of himself for telling such obvious lies.


	2. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two sides of the same coin.

Walter's days are much unchanged since Maggie, since Jimmy: he wakes up, arms up, does a ride-through of the rez. His first stop is always Grandpa Reaches, and after that, the school. The kids look at him through wide eyes, unblinking: Maggie's death had staggered them, had staggered everyone. He still looks for her, sometimes. 

He still has no visions. When he sleeps, all he hears is the dry click in his own throat as Ray drops the gun, and all he sees is Ray stepping toward Coutelle to draw the fire away from him. 

He doesn't sleep much anymore. 

*** 

Ray is not idle. He makes plans for Maggie's research, for his recordings, to bring the whitewash into the public eye: even though the bloom isn't quite yet off the Reagan rose, he knows some reporters dying to be the next Woodward or Bernstein. Bringing down the government one dead Indian at a time. 

Sometimes he thinks he's doing this for Maggie, for a woman whose strength and intelligence made her an enemy of the United States. Sometimes he thinks it's for Grandpa, and his shattered turtle shell, or for some abstract notion of justice. 

Usually, though, it's for Walter.


	3. I still keep my bullets by the door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Car repair.

What happened was Ray had thought he would go back, and then he hadn't, and two months after he had left the res, he had woken in a lurch with the dry taste of dust still in his mouth and a sheen of fear-sweat on his neck, and had driven, trancelike, for hours, Jimmy a silent passenger in the seat beside him. Walter had opened the door and Ray had stepped in before he could say anything to break the quiet, and of all the things Walter teases and prods him about, that night never comes up.

Some time later, they are fixing the truck. Walter had kept it, after Ray left, and returned it, after Ray came back, although whenever Ray calls it "his" truck, Walter will smile and laugh a little in that way that makes Ray sort of nervous and sort of happy. Ray has his head under the hood, idly running his fingers over the old black metal of the truck's engine as Walter replaces the fan belt, and Walter says quietly, mostly to himself, "That ought to do it," and straightens up and puts one hand, stained with oil, on the small of Ray's back.


	4. Breakfast at the OK Corral

Walter is not by nature an early riser, but he is a punctual one, and he is doing his normal sleep walk through the kitchen by the time Ray gets up, haphazardly corraling breakfast items onto the table as the coffee percolates, its smell filling the small room. Still wrapped in the cocoon of tired muscles and a slowed heart rate, Ray flinches at the cold plastic of the chair. No matter where you are, five in the morning is not a good hour, but five in the morning in the middle of winter in South Dakota is an especially terrible hour. 

Walter laughs, which Ray knew was coming; they do variations on this routine, but there are a few constants. 

"Every damn day," Walter says, waking up enough to make fun of Ray, his favorite pastime. Walter's sympathy for Ray's adjustment to the mercurial South Dakota weather had not been what the casual observer would describe as large, or even _visible to the naked eye_ ; he was kind of mean like that. 

"Every damn day," Ray agrees, and cuts open his bagel. It's his dignity that's being maligned, here, but Ray still thinks it sounds pretty nice. He's starting to warm up.


	5. Energy Conservation

Ray won't stop calling the damn dog _Jimmy_ and he won't stop letting him sleep in the bedroom, which means sometimes in the middle of the night Walter wakes up with his feet about a hundred degrees too hot, cursing the dog and the FBI and his own self for not putting up more of a fight the first night Ray brought Jimmy into the house. Ray had been so happy with the thing, though; he'd gotten him a collar with a little milk bone tag and food and water bowls that sat in the corner of the kitchen. 

Walter had drawn the line at the dog sleeping on the bed. Or thought he had, anyway. At the foot of the bed, Jimmy makes a soft _whuffing_ noise and wiggles around a little, taking up more space than should be possible for an animal of his size. 

Walter sighs. Next to him, Ray stirs and turns, still mostly asleep, to press up against Walter's side. Ray pets Walter's stomach absently, the heat from his sleep-warmed body covering Walter like a quilt. Walter wraps his hand around Ray's wrist, feeling his pulse thrum slow and steady. 

Fine. He'll get a fan.


	6. Old names for new things

Walter sits on the porch, mostly awake, while Jimmy tends to his dog business, sniffing the grass and the dirt to make sure it's the same grass and dirt he left unwillingly last night. Walter finishes his coffee, then shoos Jimmy back in the house to bother Ray for breakfast. Normally Ray deals with all of Jimmy's morning needs, but today Walter's going to the hardware store; it's a ways off from the rez, and he has things to do, so he leaves while it's still dark and gets there just as the place opens. He nods to Janie, the manager, who unlocks the door for him and who got used to the _crack of dawn_ routine the summer before, when they had to patch the schoolhouse roof. 

"What can I do for you today, Walter?" 

"Gonna need a little help, probably," he says, holding up a hand. Her eyes catch the steel between his first and second fingers, and she nods. 

"Yup," she says, "that you will. Come on, let's get you settled." 

With all the paint and machinery in the store, there's an industrial smell Walter doesn't really like, but it's still early enough that no one else is there and nothing is out of place, which is less aggravation for him. Janie walks next to him as they make their way to the back of the store. 

Janie rounds the desk and gestures away from the boxy machine, to a rack filled with a bunch of bases the colors of '70s refugees. 

"Any particular color?" 

"Hell," Walter says, and hands over the key. "Just need a copy. Don't need it to sparkle or talk, just so it opens the door." 

Janie smiles and starts up the cutter. For a few minutes, the whine of metal on metal fills the store, and then it's quiet again, and Janie hands him back two plain keys on a flimsy ring, which will hold for now.


	7. I Used to Live Alone Before I Knew You

Crow Horse comes home at lunch time to find Jimmy on the floor by the couch, an area actually zoned for his use. Odd enough, but not surprising today, since it's for the same reason Crow Horse is home on his paperwork hour. 

The reason makes a muffled noise beneath the quilt pile on the couch. 

"Gotta quit spending so much time with that mutt, Ray; you're starting to sound like him," Walter says, heading to the kitchen to put away the bowl tucked carefully into the crook of his arm. His mother had come by the station with soup, which ought to be _Brady Bunch_ enough to perk Ray up a little around supper. 

More noises. Possibly fever ramblings. Possibly, "Fuck you, Crow Horse," but that'd been a fairly constant refrain around the house since Ray's fancy, federally mandated vaccinations had failed to keep him from getting the flu. 

Walter's not made of stone. He'd tried pretty hard not to laugh about it where Ray could hear him. 

Walter walks back over to the couch and assesses the situation, mostly trying to determine which end of Ray is which. He susses it out after a brief coughing fit from the top of the couch and lifts Ray's feet up just enough to slide himself under them. Under the blankets, Ray's only wearing his shorts, but his skin is fever warm, hot to the touch. 

"I feel godawful," Ray manages, in a small voice. 

"I know, _kola_ ," Walter says, just as quiet. "You'll be out of it soon." He wraps his hands around the long bones of Ray's feet and rubs them until Ray makes a soft, happy sound, like Walter's hands on him are the answer to all the world's problems. 

"I mean it about the dog noises, Ray," he says, and smiles when Ray laughs.


	8. Layaways

It's been a long day, and Ray is waiting for the energy necessary to get out of the truck when Walter pulls into the driveway behind him. Walter brought the cruiser home, for some reason, and he's running the lights, which is just enough to push Ray back into the state of confused irritation he'd occupied for most of the day. 

Walter cuts the lights and walks lazily up to Ray's window, bracing himself on the frame. Ray keeps his hands on the steering wheel. 

"License and registration, please, sir," Walter says, face unreadable in the dusk. 

"Crow Horse, what the _fuck_ \--?" 

"Sir, are you aware that you have an unpaid speeding ticket currently six months outstanding?" 

Walter, Ray notices, is holding the carbon copy of the one moving violation Ray has to his name, which of course Walter was responsible for. 

"You cannot be serious." 

Walter smiles his _you think you're tough, FBI?_ smile, so Ray hands over his wallet, just in case. Walter tugs the license loose and frowns. 

"I don't know about you, mister _Lee-voi_ , but I happen to take the law very seriously. You let this slide, oh, sure, it's just one ticket, but this type thing can catch up on you. Now, I'm sure you were informed of your payment options when you first accrued the ticket?" 

"I wish to contest it," Ray says, enunciating carefully. 

"That is, of course, your legal right," Walter says. "The paperwork will be on your desk tomorrow morning." 

"This has got to be misuse of government property." 

"I know you like your job and all, _kola_ , but you're not exactly _property_ ," Walter says, and he's looking at Ray with such fondness that for a moment Ray forgets how annoyed he is. He shakes his head and makes to get out of the truck, backing Walter up a few paces. 

"Don't think you're getting out of this ticket just because you work here now. Law don't play favorites." It's a testament to Walter's poker face that he gets through that last part without laughing, but he does. 

Ray yanks the ticket out of Walter's hand and says, "Come inside so I can contest the damn thing," leaving Walter standing by the truck. He catches up pretty quickly, though.


	9. Weather Patterns

Walter's not really the restless kind, and his days are full enough. It's just that sometimes he can't sleep. 

They'd worked dawn to dusk, second day in a row, and then he and Ray had fooled around a little, and Walter had closed his eyes, expecting to be out before Ray, like normal. Instead, he'd watched the clock and listened to Ray's breathing deepen and slow, and then he'd gotten up and gone out to the porch. 

It's too dark to see much, but Walter can tell by the weight of the air that they're due for rain. He watches the wind shake through the grass for minutes or longer, feeling sleep tug at him; the quiet rustle is making him drowsy. He closes his eyes, and opens them to a cold nose pressing against his side and a hand resting on his shoulder. He hadn't heard the door open -- he's not old. He's just tired. 

"Looks like a storm," Ray says, thumb rubbing slowly over Walter's skin. Ray's pretty skittish about affection in public, which is often hilarious, but at home he's hard to pry off, like a three-legged dog who finally found someone dumb enough to love him and feed him regularly. 

That's one of those observations Walter tries hard to keep to himself. 

"Need to cover up the bike," Walter says absently, thinking out loud. He's not really thinking of doing it right now: he's too comfortable, for one, and the bike can take a little weather without getting its metal feathers ruffled, for another. 

Ray, still blinking sleepishly, appears to take him at face value, though. "Get wet and you're sleeping out here." 

"Hey," Walter says, mildly offended. "If Jimmy can be a _dog_ and sleep in the bed, I can damn well have wet hair and sleep there." 

"Yeah, yeah." Ray squeezes Walter's shoulder, then slaps his hand against his thigh to get Jimmy's attention. This gesture has a success rate of about fifty percent, because after however long of being on his own Jimmy is used to doing what he wants, but this time he knuckles under and goes to wait by Ray's feet. 

Walter stands up and herds them back into the house, hand pressed to the small of Ray's back. "Hey, at least I don't have fleas."


	10. I'd Love to Lay You Down

The storm turned serious a few hours ago, going from shower to flood, and they'd filled up the bathtub with water just in case. Walter can't find the damn candles, though, and the power is still down when Ray comes back from airing out the dog. The flashlight's on its last legs, and it throws a weak light over the cabinets as Walter rifles through them. 

"No luck?" 

"Probably should just leave it for tomorrow, when there's actually some light to see by." 

The flashlight goes out, which settles it. Walter stands up and makes toward the door, but Jimmy's underfoot. Walter swears; Ray laughs. 

"You know, if we had replaced the generator when I wanted to, you wouldn't have just taken out another of Jimmy's legs. Poor guy's only got three." 

Walter makes some shooing motions at Jimmy, ineffective because the dog never pays any attention to him when he can see him, and stomps his foot, making enough noise that even a dog dumb as this one can radar his way out. He hears the click of Jimmy's feet on the linoleum and takes it as clearance to move again, bumping into Ray immediately. 

Ray laughs again. "Hey, what about your finely honed tracking senses? Couldn't you tell by the wind where I was standing?"

He's getting too much amusement out of the whole deal; that'll have to be fixed. 

"What are you talking about?" Walter asks, crowding Ray back up against the wall. "I went right where I meant to." He brushes his thumb slowly over Ray's mouth, then follows the path with his teeth, and Ray's breath stutters a little. Walter presses closer, flush, and settles in, pinned into place as surely as Ray is. Ray winds his hand into Walter's hair, and uses the hold to move Walter around more to his liking. 

"Bossy," Walter says, barely loud enough for himself to hear. 

"You're one to talk, Mr. _It'll Last Another Ten Years_ \--" 

Ray's right, but there's no point in telling him that, not if Walter ever wants to win another argument. He kisses him again instead, which as far as fighting with Ray goes is Walter's favorite way to win, but when he pulls back to take a breath, Ray says, "-- _I Don't See Why Everything Has to Be Brand New, Anyway--_ ," so Walter leans in and bites at the apple of Ray's throat, hard, and Ray shakes, and his hand tightens in Walter's hair, and he shuts up. 

Walter kisses him, and palms the line of Ray's cock through his jeans, slow, just to feel the way Ray's entire body goes still, and waits to move until Ray chokes out his name. Ray pulls him close, near enough that Walter can smell the rain on him, and pushes into his hand until he comes. 

Sometimes it just happens like that, like Ray reaches in and pulls something out of him, something Walter doesn't even recognize as a part of himself, so even though there's no light in the house and he can't find the damn candles, Walter knows exactly what Ray's face looks like, open and surprised, and the dark makes everything seem more important, more difficult, and Walter isn't sure what to say, so he says, "Shh, steady, steady," and holds on.


End file.
